Sticks in a Bundle
by 1917farmgirl
Summary: “Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable.” - Kenyan Proverb - When Fred and George decide to visit Harry at the Dursleys the summer after OofP, they find something shocking, something that drastically alters the course of events.
1. Shattered Perceptions

**Sticks in a Bundle**

Title: Sticks in a Bundle

By: 1917farmgirl

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them.

Setting: Summer after Harry's 5th year and definitely AU.

Author's Note: I realize that there is no shortage of stories out there dealing with this particular plot device: the Dursley's cross the line in their treatment of Harry and someone must come to his rescue. I have resisted the urge to write this, telling myself there was really no need when so many had already been done before. However, the more I've browsed and read, the more I noticed a pattern. In almost all of those stories, it somehow always ends up being Snape who does the rescuing, or the healing afterwards. No offense to brilliant authors everywhere who have done this, but that's just not the relationship I would like to see cultivated. So, finally, I broke down and wrote my own. I humbly present my own interpretation to you…

Warnings: This story contains scenes of abuse as well as mild language. It is also completely AU from book five onward.

**Sticks in a Bundle **

"_Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable."_

_Kenyan Proverb_

**Chapter 1**

"Hey, Fred!"

Fred looked up from the account book he was checking at the sound of his brother's voice.

"What?"

"Lee just called through the Floo," said George, taking a seat on the edge of the desk where his twin was working. "Said he's got to back out of tonight's plans."

Fred scowled. He and George had been working like house-elves these last few months getting their shop up and running while still finding time to invent new products, visit the Burrow often enough to satisfy their mum, and help the Order out with a few tasks now that they'd been allowed to join as junior members. All that work with no play was starting to take its toll on his temperament, and he'd been excited to get out with his twin and their best friend.

"Did he say why he's standing us up?" he asked rather grumpily.

"Yeah. Remember his older sister, the one who's pregnant?"

Fred nodded.

"Well, apparently kid number five decided tonight's the night, and Lee got pressed into baby-minding duty for the other four."

Fred winced, deciding that maybe he could cut his friend some slack. A night spent changing nappies and playing "dollies" instead of plotting mischief with his best mates was probably not high on Lee's list of favorite activities either, even if he did adore his nieces. With a sigh, Fred stuck his quill in the account book and closed it, pushing away from the desk to lean back in his chair.

"So, now what are we going to do?" he asked his twin. "We've already closed the shop early."

George, still sitting on the desk top, slid back to slouch against the wall then put his feet up on the back of the second chair. "I dunno," he said. "I reckon we could track down Katie, Angelina, and Alicia."

"They're all in Wales visiting Katie's Gran, remember?"

"Darn, that's right."

They fell silent for a minute. It wasn't that the two of them couldn't think of adequate entertainment. They'd been doing it for their whole lives, and as twins they had a built in best friend, but Fred at least had been looking forward to a little extra company tonight. From the way George was acting, he knew his twin felt the same.

"We could go to the Burrow," suggested George.

"I reckon," said Fred indecisively. Ron and Ginny would be more than willing to engage in a little Quidditch, and he had to admit spending time with his younger siblings wasn't nearly as annoying as it used to be when they were younger. "But we're already going for dinner tomorrow, and I want to go out somewhere. Besides," he said as he remembered something else, "Dad's working late tonight, and so's Bill."

George sighed and let his head fall back against the wall with a thump. "There's always the Leaky Cauldron," he said without any real enthusiasm.

Fred didn't answer. He knew neither of them really wanted to spend their night off in the pub. They could do that anytime.

Then suddenly George raised his head again, the spark of mischief alive in his eyes.

"What?" Fred asked, recognizing the gleam.

"Let's go visit Harry," his brother said with a grin.

Fred's face instantly split into an identical smile. "Brilliant!" he said. "It's been three weeks since school let out. Bloke has to be going mad with those barmy Muggles!"

"Not to mention wallowing in guilt over the Department of Mysteries fiasco," added George sagely. "You know how the kid is."

Fred nodded, completely unable to understand why all the adults kept insisting sending Harry back to boredom and isolation at his aunt and uncle's house each summer was the best thing. All it did was make the boy moody and depressed. "Bet he'd love a visit."

"And his relatives will hate it," said George, smiling evilly as he got to his feet rubbing his hands together.

"We can show him all our new products since he hasn't been to the shop yet," Fred added, feeling the thrill of a good prank coming back. "And, with any luck, test a few of them on those gigantic gits he lives with! That ought to make his day."

"Ah…" sighed George, eyes glinting in Fred's direction.

Fred caught the glance and the unspoken communication that always passed between them.

"It's great to be of age!" they finished together, laughing.

"Think the Order'll get cheesed at us?" George asked as they left the back room and went into the front of the shop. "Showing up at the abode of the precious 'Boy Who Lived' without permission?"

"They better not," huffed Fred, stuffing some of their newest line of sweets into his pockets. "He's being protected not imprisoned. You'd think he'd be allowed visitors."

"Bet his aunt and uncle object," said George.

"Oh, I should hope so!" replied Fred. "My whole evening will be ruined if they don't."

Smiling at each other again with expectant delight, Fred and his brother walked out of their shop and locked the front door.

"A couple of streets over from his house then?" George asked. "So as not to throw all of the Order's nice wards into a tizzy?"

"Right-o brother-o-mine," replied Fred. "Lead on." He gestured magnanimously forward with one hand.

Grinning madly, they both turned once on the spot and disappeared with a loud pop.

*****

"How do Muggles stand this?" Fred asked his twin ten minutes later as he stared around in disgust at all the cookie-cutter houses with immaculate yards and gardens. "Everything the same and so neat? I'd go barmy!" They'd been walking through one identical street after another, their disbelief growing with each house they passed.

"Percy'd love it," commented George dryly.

"And Percy's always been an expert on good taste," Fred scoffed. "Look, here it is," he added as they stopped in front of a house indistinguishable from its neighbors except by the number four on its front.

"Reckon they remember us?" George asked with another evil grin.

"I'll be horribly offended if they don't," Fred replied. He was really looking forward to this. Baiting and tormenting Harry's relatives would be almost as much fun as taking on Snape or Filch with the added perk of hopefully cheering Harry up at the same time. "I mean how many devastatingly handsome pairs of redheaded twins could they have met in their lifetimes?"

"Exactly," said George smugly.

Minds full of impending mischief, they walked together down the path and up the porch steps. Their plan was simple really: knock on the door and see who answered. If Harry did, they were home free. If one of those apes he lived with did then it was Fred's job to get his foot in the door and his wand subtly out while George ever so politely said they were there to see Harry, make sure he was all right and everything… Hopefully the sight of the wand – which Fred of course wouldn't use but they didn't know that – as well as the reference to the not so veiled threat from the train station three weeks ago would gain them entrance to the house.

With a wink at his brother, Fred rapped smartly on the polished door then, grinning like a schoolboy, stepped back to let the fun begin.

A minute later when they were still standing there in silence, his grin started to falter. George glanced at him before he stepped forward to knock again.

Still nothing.

"You reckon they're not home?" his twin asked.

"Either that or they saw us coming and they're hiding," said Fred, frowning at the door. "Oi! Harry!" he called on a whim. "Open up!"

Still no one answered. George moved off the porch to peer into the front window.

"It's awful dark in there," he called over his shoulder to his brother. "I don't reckon anyone's home."

"Harry's not supposed to go anywhere," muttered Fred, confused. He could see the Muggles taking off, but Harry going with them…

"Yeah, and Harry's so good at following rules," replied George coming back onto the porch.

"True." Fred grinned again. It was one of the reasons they liked their brother's friend so much – he wasn't too fussy about boring things like orders or rules. "We should leave him a surprise," he suggested wickedly. "Let him know we came by."

George broke into a feral grin of his own. "Up in his room, where we know he'll find it but won't catch it from his relatives because of it." He pulled out his wand, but Fred reached out and stopped him.

"No," he cautioned, slipping a simple Muggle hairpin out of his pocket. "Let's do it the hard way. Then the Order won't even know we were here, and neither will Mum or Dad."

"Too right, too right," said George, bowing slightly. "I'll keep watch. Do it quickly before folks notice us."

It was evening and no one seemed to be about, but Fred couldn't help feeling a little exposed as he worked the hairpin into the door's lock. It didn't diminish the thrill of adventure, but it did make him hurry. After all, they wanted to cheer Harry up not get him in trouble, and, strictly speaking, the Order probably wouldn't exactly approve of them breaking into Harry's home – especially if they were mistaken by neighbors as cat-burglars and someone called the please-men. That would be a fine mess…

Fred was good at this, however, and it was only a few seconds before he heard the distinctive click of the lock opening. He grinned at George as he turned the door knob.

"Makes you wonder how Muggles manage to keep anything safe without magic, doesn't it?" whispered George as they slipped through the door and closed it softly behind them.

Fred had entered this house exactly two times before, and both times the only descriptions he'd been able to muster for it went along the lines of "too clean," "unnatural" and "boring." Standing in the entryway lined with picture after picture of Harry's porky cousin, he knew his opinion hadn't changed a bit.

"Come on," he said, eager to get out of the hall. "Upstairs."

"I know," said George with a roll of his eyes.

As they walked through the dim, quiet house, Fred felt a vague uneasiness settle around him. He couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from, or why, but the little hairs on the back of his neck were starting to stand up. At the foot of the stairs, George gave him a glance that told him he felt it, too. Something was wrong here. Wordlessly, they both drew their wands before they climbed the stairs. By the time they reached the top and stood in front of Harry's room, both twins were glaring furiously, their good moods vanished and replaced with a cold, protective anger.

Harry's door was shut, but that wasn't what had Fred and George slowly filling with rage. It was the fact that it was locked with no less than five different deadbolts.

"You reckon Harry just really wants to keep his stuff safe?" George asked quietly, no hint of amusement in his voice.

"No," answered Fred darkly, chilled by the shadowy slit of a cat-flap that seemed to stare at him as he remembered a night four years ago when he and his brothers had rescued Harry from that very room. The fact that Harry had been locked in had bothered him, but not overly much. He was fourteen, after all, Ron and Harry twelve. The thrill of the adventure had pushed everything else from their minds, and he'd never really thought on it again. Perhaps he should have.

"Harry?" he called, a sudden understanding filling him. "Harry, are you in there, mate?"

No answer came back through the locked door, and Fred felt relieved. He really didn't want to think of Harry locked in that room.

"We should go," he said to his twin, still smoldering.

"We're going to tell Dad about this, right?"

"Five locks on Harry's door? Oh, I think Dad really needs – " He broke off abruptly when he heard a sound from behind the door, barely audible and hastily muffled, that chilled him to the core: the rasp of a smothered cough followed by the delicate clink of metal on metal.

Furry erupted inside Fred again, the fury and protectiveness only a sibling can feel for another.

He turned to rip the locks from the door only to find George already twisting them, a look of cold murder on his twin's face.

The smell struck Fred first as they swung the door open, foul and disturbing. He cringed despite his best efforts, fighting the urge to gag. Then he glanced around and his nausea rolled even stronger.

It was the same room he'd seen before but even more Spartan and less inviting: wardrobe with broken doors hanging crookedly, scratched and dented desk and chair, metal bed with a bare, sagging mattress… There was a bucket in the corner where the stench was strongest and, Fred noticed with fury, the bars were back on the window. A snowy owl perched in a padlocked cage in the far corner. Other than that, the room was completely empty – except for Harry.

"Merlin, Harry!" cried Fred, stomach swimming as he stared. The younger boy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a single ratty blanket draped around his legs as he leaned back against the wall, face painted in resigned embarrassment. His shirt and glasses were missing, and Fred gaped at the bruises, cuts, and welts that decorated his friend's chest, arms, and face.

For several painful moments the three of them just stared at each other, no one sure what to say. Finally, Harry broke the stillness himself as he looked away.

"Hey, guys," he said in a raspy voice.

"What the heck, Harry?" blurted George, eyes blazing with anger.

Fred couldn't agree with his brother more. His mind was reeling, trying to process what he was seeing and how on earth it could have happened. For three weeks Harry had been sending letters to the Order, to Ron and Ginny, even to them, saying everything was just fine…

"We came to vis-" He shook his head, still stunned and furious. "How long have you been in here?" he demanded.

"Long enough," Harry rasped, voice full of self-loathing. "Is Ron with you?"

The way he asked it, Fred could tell he desperately hoped the answer was no. Fred shook his head again, forcing himself to walk farther into the room. George didn't move from the doorway, still frozen in shock and anger.

"Your uncle?" he asked, gesturing with his head at – well – everything. Harry nodded, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"How?" asked Fred. Harry was a more than qualified wizard even if he was only fifteen, and Fred couldn't see how Harry would let himself get into this situation, Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery or not.

"How could I face Voldemort three times and get away but let a great oaf of a Muggle lock me up?" finished Harry bitterly.

Fred scowled at the tone of the words but didn't correct his friend because that was essentially what he was asking.

"He jumped me," said Harry quietly – shamefully – as he stared down at his blanket covered lap. "Everyone confronting him at the station made him furious, and he smoldered all the way home. I knew he was going to be unpleasant for a while after that but well…he was angrier than I thought." The boy paused to cough roughly, and Fred's scowl deepened even more. "I was," Harry continued a minute later, his voice ragged, "hauling my trunk up the stairs when he came up behind me. He had me pinned in a headlock before I could even think of reaching for my wand. Reckon he knocked me out then because I woke up locked in here without a wand or any of my stuff…"

George let loose a string of profanities as Harry finished before composing himself enough to ask, "So, you've been shut in here this whole time?"

"Erm…yeah," said Harry with an embarrassed grimace.

"Bloody heck, Harry!" cried Fred finally, unable to stop it. "Why didn't you answer just now when we called through the door? We almost walked away and left you here!"

"Wish you would have," mumbled the younger boy causing Fred and George's eyes to bug out in disbelief.

"What! Why?" they cried in unison.

"Look at me!" replied Harry, finally raising his voice and meeting their eyes. "Would you want your mates seeing you like this?"

Fred felt a little of his anger slip at that, but only a little. He was bloody furious that someone could do this to his friend, especially someone who was supposed to be Harry's family. Harry was another little brother to them, an honorary Weasley, and no one did something like this to a Weasley brother without dire consequences.

"So, what was your plan? Spend the summer locked up while Dursley used you as a punching bag then show back up at Hogwarts on September first and pretend nothing happened?" growled Fred.

"Something like that," said Harry with a shrug. "He knew he'd have to let me go for school or there'd be trouble. It was only two months; I could handle it."

Fred shook his head in disbelief.

"Come on," he told Harry firmly. "We're leaving and you're coming with us."

Harry didn't move, just gave a bitter, hollow laugh that turned into a fit of coughing.

"What?" asked George, finally coming into the room.

"Good luck with that," said Harry tiredly in his dry voice. Fred wondered when he'd last eaten or had a drink of water.

"What do you mean?" asked George darkly, his eyes narrowed.

Harry didn't answer, just twitched the blanket covering his legs letting his skinny, bare feet and ankles come into sight, and Fred saw what he'd missed before – a pair of metal shackles were locked around Harry's ankles, a chain leading from them to the bed frame, a bed frame that Fred finally noticed was bolted to the floor.

"Are you kidding me?" Fred blurted, running a hand through his hair and taking a step backward, unsure of his ability to keep his temper under control.

"They have you chained up?" growled George, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Show us your hands, Harry," ordered Fred grimly.

With a sigh, the skinny, black-haired boy withdrew his hands from where they'd so far stayed hidden under the blanket. A pair of dull, metal manacles were wrapped around his thin wrists. It bothered Fred more than he could say that he wasn't even surprised.

"For some odd reason, the Durlseys don't seem to trust me," Harry muttered. "Reckon I can get through five locks on my door."

Fred knew he was trying to make light of the situation, desperately embarrassed they'd seen him like this, but it didn't work. It just made Fred even more upset, and he found himself suddenly unable to contain his anger. With a curse, he whirled and slammed his fist into the wall. It hurt like Hades, which was exactly what Fred wanted because he was dangerously close to losing it altogether.

When he turned around again, Harry was staring at him oddly, as if unsure of how to take this side of him.

"We're leaving." Fred said firmly. "Now." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the offending pieces of metal.

"Wait! No!" cried Harry, lurching forward with his hands outstretched toward him in pleading.

"You want to stay here?" asked George incredulously.

Harry glared his way, rolling his eyes. "No, of course not," he snapped. "I'm not mental. But I don't want to get expelled from Hogwarts either!"

"You won't be doing the magic, Harry," George replied slowly, as if he were explaining something to a very young child. As they were talking, Fred raised his wand, prepared to get Harry out of those things whether he protested or not, but Harry saw him and jerked to the side again.

"No!" he yelled desperately. "It won't matter! The Ministry detects magic going off in this house and I'll be hauled in for another hearing and probably shipped off to Azkaban when it's over this time. I can't chance it!"

"Fudge now knows you were telling the truth about You-Know-Who," Fred tried to reason.

"Yes, which just gives him reason to hate me even more because I've made him lose face. Besides, I'm not even sure it's safe to leave; the protective magic might not have kicked in yet."

"Protective magic?" scoffed George, eyeing Harry like he'd gone round the twist. "You call this protection? Harry, this is abuse! It's criminal – against the law! Any law, Muggle or Magical!"

"Yeah, and it's posh treatment compared to what I'm likely to get from Voldemort if I leave too early and he gets his hands on me. I'll take house arrest at Privet Drive with a slap-happy uncle over guest of honor at a Death Eater party any day."

Fred closed his eyes in frustration, wondering just when things had become so blasted complicated. Harry was fifteen years old! How the heck could it possibly be right that he was arguing the finer points of a summer of abuse over the possibility of torture and death? This situation was beyond Fred's ability to cope with and he knew it.

He opened his eyes to find George staring at him, his own thoughts mirrored on his brother's face. They needed help – an adult, an Order member – and his mind immediately went to the man he'd turned to for answers all his life.

"Go get Dad," he told George. "I'll stay with Harry."

George opened his mouth to argue – hotly from the look of it – but then abruptly closed it again. Of the two, he was the one least likely to lose his temper and cause a scene, and they both knew it. The last thing Harry would want was more people than were needed knowing about all of this. "I'll be back as soon as I track him down," George said instead. "And I'll bring bolt-cutters," he added with a wink to Harry that fell flat because of the furry still shining from his eyes. He shared one last meaningful glance with Fred and then turned and practically ran from the room.

"Well," said Fred after his twin had left, "can't say I approve of what you've done with the place." He was trying to put Harry at ease, take the tension out of a situation that was highly uncomfortable for both of them.

"Yeah, well, I was going for a sort of retro, Tower of London kind of feel," said Harry, playing along. "I'm not sure I quite captured it, though."

"You got one part right, mate," said Fred with a grimace, approaching the offensive bucket in the corner. "Excuse me while I make this place a bit better for both of us." Without looking at Harry, knowing the kid would be blushing deeply with shame, Fred grabbed the bucket and hurried to the loo where he left the whole thing after slamming the door shut. Let the Muggles have to deal with it. And speaking of Muggles…where were Harry's relatives anyway?

"Harry?" he asked as he opened the window in his friend's room, trying to air out the sweltering, rancid place. "Where are your aunt and uncle?"

"Dunno," replied Harry. "Uncle Vernon just said they'd be going out of town for a while. That was three days ago."

"Three days!" blurted Fred, gobsmacked. "And you've been in here… No food or water…"

"They left me some water," Harry replied with a shrug, gesturing to a jar on the floor. Fred glanced at the jar; it was bone dry. He shook his head.

"This is ridiculous," he growled. No wonder the kid was still just sitting there; he'd probably pass out from starvation if he stood up. "I'll be back with food. Stay here."

Harry laughed, and Fred realized what he'd just said. "You know what I mean," he muttered. "You need anything else?" he asked as an afterthought. "Bandages, pain potions?" Harry really looked awful, covered in welts and bruises, but the boy just shook his head.

"I'm okay."

"Right," said Fred sarcastically. "And I'm Head Boy." He rolled his eyes once more at Harry then left the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

The kitchen was dark, and he fumbled around for a minute before he remembered an old conversation between Hermione and his dad about light switchers. He found one and flipped it then looked around.

It was the cleanest, most pristine place he'd ever stood in. Metal, Muggle appliances glinted without so much as a fingerprint on them. The table and workplaces shone, and the floor looked polished for royalty. It was impeccable, and he hated it – hated the fact that the Muggles could care so much for a boring, old room like this and so little for the living, breathing boy upstairs.

With a few choice words he reserved for times he was out of his mother's hearing, he started rooting around, digging through drawers and ransacking the cupboards and fridge to find something for Harry to eat. Sadly, there wasn't much; the Muggles had apparently cleaned out most of the perishables before they left, and Fred's cooking skills were far from desirable, especially without the help of his wand. Finally, he located some eggs in the door of the fridge and some rather stale bread.

Obstacle number one conquered, he almost had to resort to running back upstairs to ask Harry how to turn the cooker on but random experimentation with knobs and buttons eventually paid off. With the eggs frying in a pan he'd dug up, he turned his attention back to the bread. He was really, really tempted to mutter his mother's toasting spell to try and make it more palatable but managed to refrain. If Harry's paranoia proved true, it would be bloody awful for his friend to get dragged in for a hearing over toast. Best not to risk it.

He pawed through the fridge once more, not caring about the mess he left in his wake, and eventually came up with a jar of marmalade. It would have to do.

With vindictive pleasure, he dug out a setting of what had to be Petunia Dursley's best china and slapped the eggs and bread on the plate. He filled the largest jar he could find with water, checked to see that he'd turned the cooker off, added a few more items to the mess he was purposefully leaving behind, and then picked up Harry's meal and climbed the stairs.

Harry hadn't moved when he came back in the room, but Fred saw him perk up at the sight and smell of food.

"This'll have to do until we can get you back to the Burrow and Mum can start fattening you up properly," said Fred as he handed the plate and jar to Harry. He frowned as he noticed the boy's hands shaking. "Drink first. You need fluids."

Harry obeyed without protest, sipping slowly at the water until he had downed half the jar. Then he turned gratefully to the food. Fred thought about asking if they had starved him all summer as well but realized he probably wouldn't like the answer; the boy was literally skin and bones. Fred could easily count his ribs.

"So," said Harry around a mouthful of eggs as Fred pulled the desk chair over by the bed and straddled it, "which one are you?"

"Huh?"

"Which twin?" Harry explained, holding back a cough. "Fred or George?"

"Fred," he answered, puzzled. Harry was one of the few people who rarely had trouble telling them apart.

Harry seemed to read his mind because he quickly added, "Three weeks without my glasses, mate. I'm not seeing so great at the moment."

Fred let slip a little curse at that. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Gone. Uncle Vernon probably binned them along with my clothes."

"Your clothes! You're starkers!" cried Fred, highly alarmed by that last bit of information.

Harry grimaced. "Not quite," he said. "He left me my shorts, and if this ever leaves this room, Fred Weasley, I _will_ hex you into next year."

"My lips are sealed." In any other situation, Fred would have taken the mickey out of the kid, but contrary to popular belief, he did have a sense of moral decency. He would never exploit Harry's suffering and pain like that.

"So?" he asked, changing the subject. "All the letters we've been getting? Did your uncle write them?"

"No, I did."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "And you said everything was peaches and cream when it obviously wasn't because…?"

"Because Uncle Vernon said he'd kill Hedwig if I didn't and stood over my shoulder as I wrote them so I couldn't slip anything in." Harry's words were bitter again. "I tried to convince her to just stay with Ron, hoping maybe it would give him a hint if she didn't leave, but she refused to leave me here alone. She came back every time even though she knew Uncle Vernon would just lock her back in her cage until it was time for the next letters." He finished speaking abruptly as a round of coughing he couldn't hold back finally took him.

Fred frowned at his friend. "Want me to let her out?" he asked, showing Harry the hairpin.

The other boy nodded, still coughing.

"You don't sound so good, Harry," Fred called over his shoulder as he went to the bird's cage. "Are you sick?"

"It's just a little cold," Harry rasped with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine."

Fred snorted but didn't comment. Harry was far from fine, and the sooner they got him out of this place and safely back at the Burrow the better.

When the lock on the cage fell off into his hands and he opened the door, the snowy bird inside made a beeline for the boy on the bed. She settled gently on his shoulder, nipping protectively at his ear.

"Hey, girl," said Harry softly, feeding her a bite of his eggs. "Go to the Burrow, okay? Stay with Ron."

She nipped him one more time and brushed his hair with her feathers before fluttering to the windowsill.

"Can you help her through the bars?"

Obligingly, Fred went to the open window. "Is she going to bite me if I squish her?" he asked his friend.

"Nah," Harry grinned, a grin that looked very out of place amongst the bruises on his pale face.

After a minute or so of careful maneuvering and turning, Hedwig slipped between the bars on Harry's window and sailed off into the night.

"All right, now it's your turn," said Fred, sitting down beside the bed again. "Give me your hands," he ordered, holding up the very helpful hairpin for the third time.

Harry set the empty dishes aside and slid forward to the edge of the bed where Fred could reach him better. "You can try." He shrugged, holding out his chained hands. "But I doubt it will work."

"Why?" Fred asked, feeling his furry flare up again as he noticed bruised and raw skin around and under the metal cuffs. If he ever got his hands on Harry's uncle…

"Uncle Vernon did something to them after he put them on – poured something into the locks."

Gently, Fred turned the cuffs around in his hands, inspecting them, and he quickly saw that Harry was right. The small hole where the key should have fit was completely filled with something hard. His hairpin was useless; these weren't coming off without those bolt-cutters – or magic.

He let out a particularly colorful curse as he lowered Harry's hands again. "You sure your uncle's not a Death Eater in disguise?" he growled, temper flaring.

"Pretty sure considering even saying the word 'magic' is enough to send him into a fit. I reckon he just suspected someone –" He eyed Fred knowingly. "– might have taught me to pick locks."

Fred didn't smile. "Yeah, and what were you going to pick them with in here, your fingernails?" he growled.

"Come on, Fred," said Harry, frowning at him. "It's not that bad. Yeah, I've had a few weeks that haven't been much fun, and Uncle Vernon went a little overboard this year, but it's not like I haven't missed meals before, or been locked in my room for a while. You can stop acting like you're all shocked and offended on my behalf."

Rage surged through Fred and he lurched to his feet, running hands through his red hair. "Harry, I _am _shocked and offended!" he cried, pacing the tiny cage of a room. "You may think this is normal behavior, which in itself makes me furious, but I can tell you it's not! It's bloody wrong and I'm ready to murder someone for doing this to you! So don't tell me not to be upset, that everything's okay, because I can't guarantee I won't lose it." He glanced back at Harry who was again squinting at him curiously as if seeing him for the first time.

"Is it still so hard for you to believe that people care about you?" Fred asked seriously.

Harry appeared to think on that for a while before he answered. "No," he finally said quietly, "I reckon not, but it is a bit weird to be having this conversation with you. Usually it's Hermione, or Ron, or maybe Lupin."

"Hey," said Fred throwing his hands up quickly, "we only came by to visit and terrorize the Muggles. We didn't know we'd be walking into this!"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, don't worry," replied Fred, glad to see the younger boy laughing even if he was still disturbed by Harry's casual acceptance of his situation. "Payback for our lost evening will be extracted when you least expect it," he promised with a wink. _And when you're looking human again_, he thought.

"I'll keep that in mind," chuckled Harry. "Now, are you going to sit down or do you like pacing my room?"

Feeling some of his rage drain away again, Fred came back to the chair and once more straddled it. He'd done everything he could for Harry at the moment; the least he could do now was refrain from yelling at him while they waited for George to bring help.

"So, how's the shop going?" asked Harry, sliding back on the bed to lean against the wall once more, wrapping the blanket securely around him.

"Brilliantly!" said Fred, leaning forward on the back of the chair, unable to stop his enthusiasm. "We're even thinking we might have to hire some help soon to keep up."

"That's great!" said Harry with real excitement. "I hope I get to see it."

"Of course you'll get to see it. Without you it never would have happened."

Harry held up his hands ruefully. "I'm a little tied up at the moment, mate," he joked humorlessly. "But maybe next summer, if my uncle's not so ticked off."

"Bugger that, Harry. You think we're going to leave you here after all this? I don't care if You-Know-Who himself tries to stop us, you're coming with us tonight. We'll have you back at the Burrow in a couple of hours, so stop talking like that. Once we've had a Healer look at you and Mum's had a few days to stuff mounds of food down your throat, we'll give you the grand tour. You can – "

He cut off abruptly as they both heard the sound of a door opening downstairs.

"Vernon, dear, don't forget the food Marge packed," a woman's shrill voice rang out from below. "It wouldn't do to let it sit in the car and spoil."

Harry's aunt, Fred knew at once. The Muggles were home. He glanced at his friend to find Harry had gone horribly pale.

"Get out of here, Fred!" Harry hissed, tossing the blanket off his lap and over the dishes Fred had brought up. "Get out and lock the door! They can't know you're here!" He was sliding off the bed as he spoke to stand resolutely on shaky legs, his chains clanking as he gripped the footboard to stay upright.

"No way!" Fred hissed back. "I'm not leaving you alone with them!"

A man's voice now drifted up from downstairs, calling for someone to be careful with the luggage.

"I've been alone with them my whole life; I can handle it!" Harry spat, eyes desperate. "But he'll kill me if he finds out you were here! Please!"

Fred felt a sinking in his gut as he remembered the mess he'd left downstairs. "Too late, Harry," he said quietly. "I left food out down there."

Harry went from white to grey and swayed alarmingly. As if on cue, they heard a deadly silence from downstairs followed by a furious roar.

"Get in the wardrobe!" Harry cried, actually shoving him.

Numbly, not sure what else to do, Fred went to it as they heard thundering footsteps approaching the stairs.

"And promise me no matter what happens, _no matter what_, you won't do any magic!"

"Harry, I – " Fred started.

"Promise me, Fred!" Harry hissed, completely panicked. Fred was afraid he was going to fall over.

"All right, I promise!" he cried, alarmed. There was pounding up the stairs now so he hastily ducked into the tiny wardrobe and just managed to pull the door shut before Harry's uncle burst into the room.

As Fred watched through a tiny crack, Vernon Dursley marched across the room and greeted his nephew with a resounding slap across the face. The crack of flesh on flesh split the room as Harry lurched backwards, only his vice-like grip on the bed frame keeping him upright and only the promise Harry had extracted keeping Fred from bursting out of his hiding spot.

"You left this room didn't you, boy!" Dursley spat, eyes flashing. "Wandered around _our_ house, touching _our_ things, while we were gone!"

"Yeah, I did, Uncle Vernon," Harry lied in a voice Fred knew was meant to bait his uncle.

Vernon grabbed Harry by the shoulders with a grip that had to be painful. "And you've done this before?" he yelled right in his nephew's face.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry glibly. "Loads of times. All summer long. At night while you were sleeping, when you've been out…"

Vernon slapped him again, and this time Harry lost his grip, toppling over onto the decrepit bed.

"HOW?" screamed his uncle, advancing like an angry bull.

"Didn't you know wizards don't need magic to get through locks?" Harry continued, lying through his teeth even as a trickle of blood started rolling from the corner of his mouth. "We can walk through walls."

As Dursley bellowed like an elephant, Fred desperately wished Harry would shut up. He knew what his friend was doing, trying to make his uncle so angry he didn't stop to think of the impossibility of the story he was being fed and work out that someone else had to be there, but it meant that Harry was directly in his line of fire with nowhere to hide or run. _Where the heck were George and his dad_? Fred wondered furiously.

"How dare you!" Dursley screamed, glaring down at Harry as spittle flew from his mouth. "For nearly fifteen years we've put up with you! Lived with your freakiness! Fed and clothed you despite it! And now you repay our kindness by having your freaky friends question us, smear our reputations in public and threaten us!" As he yelled he moved to a corner and picked up a long, coiled rope of some kind Fred hadn't noticed before. Harry's eyes went wide at the sight of it although he maintained the insolent expression plastered over his bruised face.

"And now," his uncle continued to rage, building up steam as he went, "you admit to stealing from us! For years! I'm telling you boy, this is the end! I'm turning you over to the police, and they can lock you up like you deserve!"

Something flashed through Harry's eyes. "And exactly how would that be any different from life here, Uncle Vernon?" Harry spat back furiously. "Might even be better! I hear you're allowed to eat in prison!"

With an inhuman growl, Dursley lunged at the skinny, shaking boy, flipping him over onto his stomach and pinning his stick-like arms above his head with one beefy hand. Something orange flashed through the air and struck Harry's back with a crack before Fred even had time to really notice. Like lightening it snapped through the air twice more, leaving fresh welts behind and finally managing to drag a whimper of pain from Harry before Fred could shake off his shock and cotton on. Dursley was beating Harry, _whipping him_, while he sat there and watched!

With a roar, Fred burst from the wardrobe and threw himself at Dursley, promises be darned. Besides, magic was the thing farthest from his mind; he planned to kill the man with his bare hands.

"Fred, no!" Harry shouted from where he lay bleeding on the bed. Fred ignored him and grabbed for the orange rope. He missed, but his sudden appearance was enough to startle the huge man away from his victim.

"You bloody monster!" Fred screamed in blind fury, swinging a fist at Dursley's face even as the man bellowed, "Petunia! It's them! Help!"

Fred barely noticed a bony, horse-faced woman dash from the doorway before he was forced to duck a massive fist in return.

"Fred, just get out of here!" Harry screamed as Fred dodged a blow from the strange orange rope. He noticed the younger boy trying to pull himself to his feet again only to be knocked back down by another powerful strike from his uncle's impromptu whip.

"Stay there, you disgusting brat!" snarled Dursley. "I'll deal with you after I take care of your friend!"

Thinking fast, Fred snatched the china plate off the bed and hurled it at Harry's uncle. It struck him a glancing blow to the temple before smashing into a million pieces against the wall. Blood trickled from a cut on Dursley's head, but it didn't even seem to slow him down, only enrage him. He turned on the twin, murder in his eyes. As he advanced, Fred pulled out his wand. Promise or no promise, their lives were at stake here and it was time to leave. Before he could utter a spell, however, orange flashed in front of him and pain flared through his fingers as his wand fell uselessly to the floor, his fingers numb from a heavy blow. With a shock, he realized the orange rope had something hard and rather pointy on the end. And then he didn't think of anything but fighting for his life because Harry was screaming again and his uncle was raining blows down indiscriminately on both of them with that bloody rope.

With a howl, Fred threw himself at the huge man, trying to get his hands around his throat or swing a fist at his face…anything! Consequently, when his peripheral vision picked up a large frying pan swinging at his head he didn't even have time to yell, let along duck. As his world exploded into lights brighter than any firework he'd ever produced, his last thought was that his mum was going to be peeved with him for getting them both killed.


	2. Standoff

**Chapter 2**

As soon as George Weasley was safely away from Number Four, Privet Drive and the eyes of any nosy neighbors who might be watching, he broke into a run. He forced himself to go at least three streets over before he stopped to Apparate, knowing Harry was probably very right in his assessment of Fudge's current feelings toward the teenager. The less trouble the boy had to deal with the better, especially now.

He was unbelievably shocked and appalled at what he and Fred had just discovered, what Harry was living through. How could they have let this happen? How could no one notice? And how could Harry just stoically endure it, convinced there was no better option? Had anyone know about this? The Order? Dumbledore? _His parents?_ It was unthinkable that any of them could have known Harry was being abused and left him there anyway, but then again until half an hour ago he would have thought it impossible to find Harry in such a situation to begin with.

Feeling angry and frustrated, George shook his head to clear it. He couldn't do this, start casting doubt on everyone he looked up to and trusted, even his own parents. He had to assume Harry had managed to hide this, that the adults in his life would never willingly make his friend suffer through this. But if he ever found out otherwise, people would see a very different side of George Weasley.

Taking a calming breath, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the lane outside the Burrow. Quickly, he ducked into his father's shed. His dad kept a varied assortment of Muggle tools hidden there. After several minutes of searching, he stuffed the ones he reckoned would be most helpful inside his jacket and headed for the house. Light shone brightly from the kitchen, and he could smell fresh bread baking as he opened the backdoor.

"George!" his mum cried, turning from the stove as he came in. He glanced around to find Ron and Ginny sitting at the table which was also set with several empty places.

"Hi, Mum," he said quickly. "Dad here?"

"Not yet, dear. I expect he won't be home for another hour or so. Come on in and have some dinner. And where is your brother?"

"Fred's busy," he said evasively. "And I can't stay for dinner, sorry Mum. I'll be back later."

He ducked back out quickly before his mum could launch into the fury of protests he could see coming. He hoped they enjoyed their calm, peaceful meal because if things went according to plans and they brought Harry back here later, that mood was sure to shatter the instant they saw him.

Once he was beyond the Burrow's wards, George Apparated again. He reappeared at the Apparation Point for Ministry of Magic guests.

"Name and purpose," said a bored, disembodied voice.

"George Weasley, here to see my dad Arthur Weasley," said George quickly. He was used to this now as Fred and he had been to visit their dad at work several times while they were setting up their shop.

He caught the shiny badge that appeared out of nowhere and pinned it on, then hurried through the atrium toward the lift. It being rather late in the evening, few people were around and George had an unobstructed view of the cavernous room. Most of the damage from Harry's fight with You-Know-Who had been repaired, but George could still see places here and there where problems remained. He wondered if Fudge blamed Harry for that, too – defacing his beloved building. Apparently, blaming Harry for things he didn't do was a popular pastime these days.

The lift was empty and he fidgeted slightly as it seemed to take forever to get to his dad's floor. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to hurry, needed to get back to Harry and Fred.

The door to his father's office was slightly ajar so he only knocked out of habit before striding in.

"George!" his dad said, looking up from his desk, a bit startled.

"Hey, Dad," said George, glad his father was alone in the tiny room. He came fully inside and closed the door behind him.

His dad took one look at the serious expression on his normally cheerful son's face and set down his quill.

"What is it, son?" he asked.

"Fred and I went to visit Harry tonight," he said directly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

His dad's eyes instantly narrowed. "You didn't use magic, did you?" he asked quickly, patting down his robes as if looking for something. "I didn't feel the warning go off, but I have been rather distracted tonight," he muttered more to himself than to George.

"No, we didn't use magic. He wouldn't let us," George assured him. He dropped his voice slightly. "He figured Fudge might be a tad sore at him and looking for any chance to cause trouble."

"He figured right," his father said, eyeing him shrewdly. "Our sources tell us that Fudge might be about to take a mighty fall from grace and he knows it. He'd love to take Harry or Dumbledore with him, or even better to somehow use them to reclaim his prestige."

"I promise we didn't do anything to get Harry in trouble with Fudge," he assured his father again. "But, Dad, I need you to come back with me to his house. Harry _does_ need your help."

"Why?" asked his dad, rising to his feet. "What's going on?"

"I'd rather not say too much here, Dad, but it's serious, and it's more than Fred and I knew how to handle. Fred stayed with him while I came to get you."

George felt a great rush of love and gratitude for his father when he didn't even question him. He was stacking papers away and grabbing his hat and cloak before George even finished speaking. Then his dad flicked out the lamp with his wand and reached for the doorknob, but they both jerked back in surprise when the door opened before he could touch it.

"Dad!" said Bill, standing in the doorway on the other side and looking just as startled. "I thought I was supposed to meet you – " His eyes fell on George. "George, what are you doing here? Where's Fred?"

George fought to hide an eye roll. Why was it that the second thing out of anyone's mouth whenever they saw him alone was to ask where Fred was? Did people honestly think they never went _anywhere_ alone? He shook his head, remembering the very serious reason for his visit, filing his thoughts away for later. There had to be the genesis for a good prank in there somewhere…

"There's been a… Something's come up, Bill," his dad said softly, gesturing for his older son to move back down the hall. "George came to get me. You should probably come with us anyway."

"Is Mum all right? Is it Fred?"

"Everyone's fine, Bill," snapped George, unjustly annoyed at his brother for wasting their time with pointless interrupting.

Bill eyed his brother curiously at the frosty tone but shut up and followed them down the hall.

They only stopped once outside a door that read "Portkey Authorization Department: Mabel Mallard, Head; Ephraim Smyth, Jr. Assistant." George watched his dad duck inside after telling them to wait in the hall.

"Arthur! What a surprise!" he heard a man say through the crack where the door hadn't closed tightly.

"Ephraim, good to see you. Mabel in her office?"

"No, she went home ages ago."

"Good. Ephraim, I need a favor…"

George felt someone staring at him and turned to find his oldest brother eyeing him strangely.

"What?" he snapped.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Bill asked coolly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "What did you and Fred do this time, and what does Dad have to do to bail you out?"

"Why do you automatically assume _we_ did something?" George asked, offended.

"Just a little something I've picked up on after eighteen years as your big brother."

George resisted the urge to hex him, but only barely. "We haven't done anything so why don't you just shut it!"

"Then what is this all about? Why won't you just tell me?"

George's annoyance with his brother slipped away as he remembered why he was there to begin with.

"I will, but not here," he said meaningfully with a quick glance around.

Bill understood immediately and nodded. Barely a minute later their dad came back out into the hall, slipping something into the pocket of his robes as he closed the door.

"Let's go, boys," he said solemnly.

They took the lift to the atrium in silence, but when they stepped out into the room, his dad pulled him aside.

"Did you Apparate here?" he asked, something like worry shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," George answered.

"Straight from _there_?"

"Erm…no. I stopped at the Burrow first. Thought you might be there."

George knew he wasn't imagining the relief that flashed through his father's eyes. "Good," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, we're taking the visitors' exit."

He hadn't used the phone booth exit since he was a little kid coming to see his dad at work, but he didn't say anything as he followed his father and brother over and squeezed into it. He had to admit it seemed much smaller than it used to, and it was a relief to finally step out into the Muggle street.

"Follow me, there's an alley over here where it's safe to Apparate from," his dad said, pulling them along.

They walked until they arrived in a dingy, dead-end alley. "All right, George, now tell us exactly what's going on."

"Harry's in trouble, Dad," said George at once, again feeling the overwhelming sense of urgency. Something told him they needed to hurry. "His uncle went ballistic on him after we all showed up at the station and threatened the Muggles. He's been locked in his room since the beginning of summer!" he spat, anger for his friend returning full force. "And, Dad," he added furiously, looking right at his father, knowing that what he was about to say would shock and anger the older man deeply, "they've actually got him chained up! Shackles on his feet and hands and a chain fixed to his ankle that's tethered to his bed. He can't walk more than three feet in any direction."

George didn't bother to hide the disgust and fury he felt as he explained what they had found, and he wasn't surprised at all when Bill let out an angry curse even as his dad paled.

"There's more, Dad," he continued grimly, anxious to be done with his gruesome story. "They've crossed all the lines this time. They've been starving him all summer, and his uncle's been beating him."

George could count on one hand the times he'd seen his father truly livid, but as he finished speaking and watched him now he knew without a doubt that he would have to add to that count. Arthur Weasley the Muggle lover might seem odd and easily outdone, but Arthur Weasley the father was a force to be reckoned with.

"Let's go," his father said flatly through tightly pressed lips. "Where have you been Apparating?"

"To a street about three over from Harry's."

His dad nodded once with approval. "You lead then."

George took his dad's arm with one hand and grabbed Bill's with the other, sparing a glance at his brother's face to find a stone, cold furry almost identical to his father's etched across his features. Vernon Dursley picked the wrong family to mess with George couldn't help thinking as they all turned around and disappeared, reappearing moments later in Surrey.

"He's been there long enough, hasn't he?" he asked his dad as they started hurrying for Privet Drive. "We're taking him home with us, right? 'Cause Harry flat out told us he'd rather spend the summer getting knocked around by his boar of an uncle than risk You-Know-Who getting him."

"He's been there long enough," his dad said firmly. "But we'd be taking him even if he hadn't. The only way Harry will ever enter that house again is over my dead body."

The cold seriousness of his father's voice reassured George. There was no way his father could be this angry and have known anything of what was going on in Number Four, Privet Drive. George felt his world right itself just a little, only to have it knocked askance one more as they turned the corner and Harry's house came in sight.

There was a car in the drive and lights shining from inside.

"Crap!" he cursed. "The Muggles are back!"

He broke into a sprint, tearing down the walk and up the steps, trusting his dad and Bill to follow. In a panic, he ripped open the front door and raced through the house, passing Harry's massive cousin who seemed frozen in place in the sitting room as he headed for the stairs. Screams, curses and the sound of blows came from upstairs, and George ignored Dudley as he took the stairs three at a time, skidding to a stop at the top in Harry's doorway.

The scene before him was utter chaos and straight out of his nightmares.

Harry was cowering back into the bed as his uncle stood over him, screaming and delivering blow after blow with his fists and some strange orange rope. The boy was covered in welts and small trickles of blood but trying his best to scream and strike back in defiance at his uncle, who was bleeding from a cut on his own head. Off to one side, Harry's aunt was sobbing over a pile of what looked like shattered china, and crumpled in the corner, sporting his own welts and leaking blood at an alarming rate from a wound on his temple lay Fred, unmoving. A frying pan with dark liquid on the edge lay abandoned nearby.

"Fred!" he screamed, his heart stopping as he dashed into the room, heedless of Harry's uncle whirling toward him at his cry.

"I TOLD YOU NO BLOODY MORE OF THEM!" Vernon Dursley screamed. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"No, Uncle Vernon!" cried Harry hoarsely, reaching out chained hands to try and stop his uncle as he advanced on George even though he was so injured he could barely move.

George looked up from Fred just in time to dodge the frying pan swung by a murderous Dursley. Frantically, he dug in his pocket for his wand as he rolled to avoid another blow.

CRACK!

Everyone froze as the sound shattered the air. George looked to the doorway to find his father and Bill standing there, both filled with cold fury. Bill was holding a Muggle pistol, and there was now a bullet sized hole in the Dursleys' ceiling. Silently, his brother turned the gun on Harry's uncle, his aim unflinching.

"Mr. Dursley, put the frying pan and rope down now, and get away from my children!" his dad ordered, his voice ringing with authority.

"No freak's going to tell me what to do in my own house!" screeched Dursley. "And he isn't your child!" he ranted, flinging an arm out to point at Harry. "He's my bloody nephew, and I can discipline him how I see fit! The freak's had it coming to him!"

A look settled over his dad's face that made even George want to take a step backward. "Get away from my sons!" his dad bit out through clenched teeth. "All three of them –

this instant!"

"Or else what? I know for a fact you lot can't do magic without getting that brat chucked out of his precious school."

"Last time I checked it didn't take magic to operate one of these," said Bill coldly, raising the gun a little higher so it now pointed right at Dursley's head. Reading the fury on his brother's face made George very grateful they were related, and doubly thankful he wasn't meeting Bill alone in some dark alley at night.

"Mr. Dursley," said his dad, stepping farther into the room. "Your wife and son are in this house. Do not force my hand or I promise you they will see something they shouldn't, and you might _not_ live to regret it. Now, back away!"

Dursley hesitated, fury warring with fear, but finally he seemed to realize he'd picked a battle he wouldn't win. He dropped his impromptu weapons to the floor with a clatter and raised his hands.

"Bill, take care of Mr. Dursley and his family. Put them somewhere they won't be in the way," his dad ordered. George had to wonder if he told Bill to do it because he didn't trust himself not to harm the Muggles if he was left alone with them. George knew that's where his own thoughts were running. Of course, there was no accounting for what Bill might do either…

Bill nodded. He gestured with the gun for Harry's uncle to proceed him out of the room. "You, too, Mrs. Dursley," he commanded, glaring at the woman who was still kneeling on the floor beside the wall, clutching the biggest pieces of broken china to herself in resplendent grief. "Up we go."

When Bill spoke to her, her eyes that had previously been hazy and tear-clogged narrowed sharply with open hatred and anger. "This plate came from my mother!" she hissed scathingly. "How _could_ you!"

As George watched, Bill returned her gaze with an icy one of his own. "And that _child_," he said quietly, "came from your sister. How could _you_? Fancy explaining to your mum how you care more for her broken plate than her battered grandchild? Now get up."

Her face paled and she gazed slack-jawed at Bill, perhaps never having considered things in quite that vein before. She let the broken bits of china slip through her fingers to the floor, her gaze suddenly drawn toward Harry as she rose to her feet.

_A little late for remorse now, _George thought bitterly. Bill and his father apparently shared his view because Bill simply motioned for the two Dursleys to walk out of the room, and his father didn't even spare them a passing glance as they left.

As soon as they were gone, George rushed to Fred's side. With shaky fingers, he reached for his brother's neck and almost cried with relief when he felt a steady pulse.

"Mr. Weasley," gasped Harry weakly, sagging back into his grotty bed in obvious pain. "I tried to make Fred leave, I really did."

He sounded scared, and it dawned on George that even after all they had said Harry still believed his dad might blame him for Fred's injuries.

"He just wouldn't go!" Harry finished desperately.

"Hush, son," his dad said gently, his eyes unfathomably sad as he moved to the bed and sat down beside the dark-haired boy. Trusting George to take care of Fred, his dad simply asked him the unspoken question with his eyes.

"He's alive," George quickly answered, more relieved than he could express to utter those words. "He's got a nasty head wound and could really use a Healer, but I don't think there's any immediate danger. I reckon he's just knocked out. Gonna have a bugger of a headache when he wakes up, though." He grimaced, gazing at the wound and the dark bruise and lump that were already forming around it. Tearing a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, he started tying it around his twin's head in an attempt to stop the bleeding while he listened to his dad speak with Harry.

"See, Harry," soothed his father, "Fred will be fine. George is taking care of him, so let's worry about you for now."

"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley," responded Harry.

"Yeah, right," George muttered, stealing another glance at his friend. Harry was liberally covered in welts and gashes from where the orange rope had bit deeply, many deep enough to ooze blood which ran in trickles down his pale skin. "You're barking if you expect us to believe that."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, sinking back into the mattress. "This isn't exactly how I envisioned seeing the lot of you again, y'know," he muttered abashedly.

George's dad just brushed a gentle hand through Harry's dirty, matted hair. "I know, Harry, I know," he sighed.

Having patched Fred up the best he could manage without magic or a first-aid kit, George checked once more to make sure his twin was breathing fine and his pulse was strong before standing up and walking to the bed to join Harry and his dad.

"Brought you a present, Harry," he said pulling the tools from inside his jacket.

"Lucky me," the boy said weakly.

"I've locked the Muggles in the basement," said Bill, entering the room as George fiddled with the bolt-cutters, trying to decide the best way to proceed without hurting his friend more.

"Did they give you any trouble?" his dad asked.

"Dursley ran his mouth off the whole time, but that was about it."

"So, Bill?" George asked as he fit the cutters over the chain attached to the bed, reckoning it might be wise to make his first attempt away from his friend's skin. "Exactly when did you start carrying around Muggle weapons?"

"When I started crawling around inside dark tombs and pyramids where you never know what's about to jump out at you, or how it will react to magic."

George was trying to think of a reply to that when they all heard distant sirens coming through the open window.

"And that is the sound of more trouble for us approaching," said Bill grimly. "I figured someone would have heard the ruckus. We need to hurry."

"Harry, do you know where they might have put your things?" his dad asked.

"Yeah. Look in the cupboard under the stairs. Anything he didn't just bin will probably be there."

"George, go," his dad ordered taking the tools from his hands. "We'll take care of things here."

Once again, George sprinted down the stairs, this time rounding them to stop in front of the small, locked door. He could hear the Muggle sirens getting closer as well as the racket as Harry's relatives pounded on the basement door.

This was no time for finesse. George simply backed up and kicked the door, letting all his pent up anger and fury from the day fuel the blow. With a satisfying crunch, the door splintered. Two more kicks and it was lying on the floor in pieces. He was hauling Harry's trunk out of the cupboard when his dad and Bill came down the stairs.

Bill carried Fred, who was still out cold, while his dad cradled Harry in his arms, a blanket wrapped protectively around the smaller boy. The soft chink of metal told George they hadn't had time to deal with all the chains yet.

"Quickly!" his father hissed as several vehicles screeched to a halt in front of the house, sirens blaringly loudly. "I've got a Portkey to the Burrow! Don't worry," he added at Harry's panicked expression. "The Ministry can't detect Portkeys unless they're unauthorized, and this one is perfectly legit. Hurry!" he urged, shifting Harry's weight to hold out a tiny rubber duck. "Be sure you hold tightly to the trunk, George."

George, Bill and their dad reached for the toy just as they heard the please-men bursting in through the front door in the other room. Thankfully, the magic activated and gripped them, hurtling them through space, before the loud pounding of footsteps had reached the end of the hall.

They landed with a grunt in the field behind the Burrow, his dad and Bill barely managing to keep their feet and not drop either Fred or Harry.

"That was too close," Bill muttered, shifting Fred more securely into his arms. "And this is going to cause all sorts of problems."

"Yes. The Order's sure to have gotten wind of something happening on Privet Drive by now," his dad said. "The Ministry probably has as well. I'm going to have to go in and try to help contain things, but first let's get up to the house."

"I can walk, Mr. Weasley," Harry tried to say as they all started toward the brightly lit Burrow in the distance, but his argument lost any force when he broke off into harsh coughing.

"Harry, you are sick and injured, not to mention barefoot and wearing hardly anything. I'm going to carry you, just as I would any of my other children."

Harry fell silent at that.

As they passed the boundary of the Burrow's outer wards, George's dad turned solemnly to Bill. "The wards will need to be strengthened, as soon as possible."

"I know. I'll get right on it tonight, once these two are taken care of."

His dad nodded approval, and then they all headed for the kitchen door. George entered first, hauling Harry's trunk in behind him. Ron was the only one in the room. His brother looked up from rummaging through the icebox as he came in.

"George, 'bout time you came back. Mum's been in a tizzy all night for how rudely you left before and… What are you doing with Harry's trunk? Is he – " Ron's rambling broke off abruptly as their dad entered carrying a weak and bleeding Harry, followed by Bill carrying the still unconscious Fred.

"Bloody heck! What in Merlin's name happened?" Ron demanded, rushing to his friend's side even as he threw worried glances at his injured brother.

"Harry's uncle happened," George bit out, still seething and unwilling to hide the truth as Harry would no doubt try to do.

Ron swore vehemently.

"Ronald Weasley!" their mum's voice came from the stairs, scolding loudly. "You will not use words – Oh, sweet Merlin!" She stopped suddenly as she rounded the last landing and had a view of the kitchen, clutching her heart in shock.

"Fred! Harry!" she cried, rushing down the last flight. "Arthur, what happened? Who did this?"

"I'll explain later, Molly. You need to Floo Healer Winkworth and ask if he's available to make a house call."

His mum looked very much like she wanted to stay put right where she was, but she took another look at her husband's extremely serious face and nodded. "Of course," she said, rushing off to the sitting room.

"Ron, run get the twins' room ready. It'll be easier just to put Fred and Harry together in there for now as there's already two beds."

Eyes wide, Ron raced up the stairs. After a moment, George abandoned Harry's trunk in the kitchen and followed him. He was pretty sure he and Fred had left some products up there that needed careful handling.

He entered his room to find Ron shoving things indiscriminately off the beds and out of the way.

"Hey, careful with our stuff, little bro!"

"How can you be worried about your stuff when Fred and Harry look like that?"

"Because some of it's liable to explode if you drop it, Ron."

"Oh," said his brother, setting the box he'd been about to chuck into the corner down rather gingerly.

"Here, move over," said George, pushing Ron out of the way. He pulled out his wand and uttered a quick cleaning spell followed by an organizing one. Clothes flew from the floor, boxes stacked themselves against the wall, and the bedclothes straightened.

"Can't wait 'till I'm of age," muttered Ron, stepping backward as their dad and Bill entered the room.

Bill laid Fred down on his bed while their dad set Harry gently on George's.

"Would you like me to have everyone leave, Harry?" his dad asked the trembling boy.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said roughly, fighting the urge to cough. "Most of you've seen the show already and the rest will find out soon enough. Just…maybe keep Ginny out, since I'm…you know…a little sparse on clothes…"

"I'll go head her off," Bill offered, standing. "On my way to work on those wards."

As Bill left the room, George moved to take his place at Fred's bed. His twin looked very pale and still, bruises covering his arms and face and blood still oozing slightly out from under the makeshift bandage.

Just to be sure, he checked Fred's pulse one more time, before he eased his brother's shoes off and straightened his limp form so he rested more comfortably in the bed. As he worked, he listened to the conversation going on between his dad and Harry.

"Let's get you out of the rest of those chains before the Healer gets here, okay?" his father said quietly, eyes brimming with sadness.

Mutely, Harry nodded, not meeting his gaze. His face was flushed scarlet from shame.

His dad unwrapped the blanket from around the boy, revealing the bloody, bruised, starved body underneath once more and the wrists and ankles still locked in iron chains. At the sight, Ron gave an unintelligible exclamation of fury and anger, his eyes flashing as he stared at his friend. For several long seconds he was frozen there, then suddenly he whirled and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Harry squinted after him in confusion.

"Don't worry," his dad said as he took out his wand. "He'll be back."

_After he's kicked the crap out of something_, George thought, almost wishing he could go with him.

Acting as though Ron's behavior was nothing new, his dad simply continued what he was doing. He muttered two quick spells and the chains fell from Harry's hands and ankles. He picked them up with a hateful look and put them in his robes.

"Thanks," said Harry softly, rubbing his bruised wrists gingerly.

Sadly and very gently, George's dad traced a few of the bleeding welts on the boy's arms and face.

"Harry, what was that rope he was hitting you with?"

"Oh, nothing nasty," Harry shrugged. "Just an extension cord. Muggles normally use them with electricity."

"What was on the end of it?"

George remembered the weird, pronged end of the rope that had cut his friend quiet badly.

"Um…a plug," muttered Harry.

George saw his dad rock back as if he'd been slapped.

"A…plug?" he stuttered, paling. His dad collected plugs. "I thought…how could they be used…?"

"It's okay, Mr. Weasley," Harry hurried to assure him. "There's nothing wrong with plugs, really! He just got really mad at me one day and the cord was handy. That's all."

His father didn't answer, just closed his eyes and let his head drop forward. George tried to think of something to say to that, but nothing came to mind. In the end it was only the bedroom door bursting open that broke the awful, pained silence.

His mum bustled into the room and over to the two beds but then froze, apparently completely torn over whom to go to first – Fred or Harry.

Behind her strode Healer Woodrow Winkworth, the tall, grandfatherly man who had tended to George and his siblings for as long as he could remember. The man took one look at his current charges and ordered them all out of the room.

"I will work much better without the lot of you underfoot – yes, even you, Molly. Shoo, all of you! I'll come down when I'm finished."

Reluctantly, George left Fred's side and followed his parents out of the room and down to the kitchen. Ginny was sitting restlessly at the table.

"What's going on?" she cried, jumping to her feet. "Bill said Harry's here and he's hurt, and so's Fred!"

"Sit down, Ginny, dear," his mum said tiredly. "We don't know anything yet. Healer Winkworth just went in with them."

"But how did it happen? Who hurt them?"

"I think we'd both like to know that," George's mum said, gazing right at him.

He sighed, not excited to explain again, especially to his mum and baby sister.

"It was Harry's uncle," he said wearily, slouching against the edge of the table. "He's had Harry locked up all summer and been hurting him. Fred and I just went by tonight to try and visit and when we found out what had been going on, things went a little South."

Ginny went deathly pale but his mum was livid.

"That man did this to them?" she shrieked. "After everything we warned him about?"

George nodded.

Unexpectedly, she rounded on her husband. "He's _fifteen _years old! The Order was supposed to be keeping an eye on him! Did they know about this?"

"Molly, do you honestly think anyone would have insisted he stay there if they did?"

Tired of the endless questions about something that had him just as shocked and angry as the rest of them, George took advantage of his parents' distraction and slipped outside.

The night air was cool and soothing and he relished it. He wandered aimlessly until he noticed a shadowy figure out beyond the broom shed, sitting slumped on an old stump. Silently, he came up beside him, turning over a bucket to use as a seat and folding his long, lanky form down onto the low top. For a long time they just sat there, not speaking.

"How's Fred?" Ron finally asked in a hoarse voice.

"Dunno," muttered George. "Healer Winkworth kicked me out." As he spoke, the ever-present worry for his twin that he'd been trying to ignore swelled back up. He'd never seen his brother lie so still and pale…

He shook his head. Dwelling in worry wouldn't help anything. "How're you?" he asked his younger brother.

Ron let out a snort. "My brother's up there unconscious and my best friend has spent the last three weeks chained up while his uncle beat him to a bloody pulp. How do you think I am?"

It was a fair point; George himself was still outrageously angry.

"They're here now," he said, trying to make them both feel better. "I'm sure they'll be okay." _They'd better be_, he added silently.

"That's just it, George!" cried Ron, finally turning to face him. "Harry's not okay. He hasn't been okay since Cedric was killed, even though he tells you he's fine. Then Umbridge and Fudge and last year at school happened. Add the mess at the Ministry and Sirius dying on top of that, which Harry still feels responsible for by the way, and he's barely hanging on by a thread. How's he supposed to deal with this, too? Why should he have to? Can't he ever get a break?"

"I dunno," said George again in a quiet voice, solemnly meeting his brother's furious eyes. "Because he's Harry."

Ron gave a sort of hollow laugh. "Because he's 'The Chosen One'," he scoffed.

"It's bloody unfair, isn't it," agreed George.

"Unfair doesn't even cover it." He fell silent and George let him, both lost in their own unpleasant thoughts.

A little later Ron spoke again, his voice barely audible. "You know what he's going to do, don't you?"

It wasn't really a question so George didn't answer.

"He's going to take this and do just what he always does with all the crap that happens to him – pretend it never did, or it isn't that bad. He'll go around telling everyone he's fine, he's okay, not to worry, but in reality he'll be a little sadder, a little older, a little more closed up, and I _hate_ it!" He practically spat the last words.

George still didn't say anything. For one, he wasn't used to such profound insights coming form his younger brother, but he also wasn't sure how to respond. Ron knew Harry better than anyone; if he was this worried…

"I'm going back in to check on them," Ron said getting to his feet. "You coming?"

"Go on, I'll be there in a bit."

After Ron left, he sat there staring out at the night sky. The stars twinkled brightly in the velvety background completely unaware of the drama playing out below them or the emotions whirling and colliding inside of him. How could one little evening spark so many huge revelations and changes? How could life, which for him had always been so colorful and exciting, be so ugly at the same time? It made his head spin.

Shoving his careening thoughts aside, he got to his feet and headed for the house. As he passed his father's shed, something near the trash bins caught his eye and he stepped closer until he could see clearly in the moonlight.

It was his dad, face set in disappointed anger, binning his collection of plugs.

For a second, George watched, then silently he backed away and turned toward the light of his home.


	3. Anger

**Chapter 3: Anger**

Only his mum and Ginny were still in the kitchen when Ron came back inside.

"Anything yet?" he muttered, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Not yet, Ron," his mum said. Ron thought she sounded very tired.

"Where's Dad? And Bill?"

"Your father will be right back; he's just stepped out for a moment. And Bill's working on strengthening the wards so that Harry can be safe here."

"What's going to happen now?" asked Ron gravely. "Harry's going to stay here, right? He doesn't have to go back to that _place_ does he?"

"Anyone who tries to send that boy back to that house will have to go through me first," his mum vowed hotly.

Ron nodded, satisfied. An irate Molly Weasley wasn't someone to take lightly, especially if one of her children was involved. Anyone attempting to take Harry away would have a battle on their hands.

There was a sudden popping noise from the sitting room that told them the Floo was opening, followed by a man's voice.

"Arthur, Molly? Anyone home?"

"Remus!" his mum cried, jumping to her feet. "We're in the kitchen; come on through!" Only moments later a disheveled and harried Remus Lupin rushed into the kitchen.

"Molly, where's Arthur? There's – " He hesitated, glancing at Ron and Ginny as though unsure how much to say in front of them, then he seemed to decide urgency outweighed caution. "There's been trouble at Privet Drive. I don't want to alarm you, but Harry's gone missing and we need – "

"Remus, he's here," his mum cut in quickly.

Lupin trailed off abruptly, staring at her in confusion. "He's here?" he finally repeated, dumbfounded. "Since when?"

"He's been here for about an hour. He's upstairs with the Healer right now."

"Healer? What's wrong? What happened? Is he all right?" Panic and concern lay heavy in his voice.

Ron watched his mother's face cloud with anger again. "No, he most certainly is not all right. He's been abused, Remus, all summer by that lout he calls an uncle. Arthur, Bill, and the twins brought him here about an hour ago.

Completely shell-shocked, Lupin collapsed into a chair. "Abused?" he whispered, eyes wide. "But…but how? What happened?"

He looked right at Ron as he muttered these words, as if hoping he would have the answers, but Ron just shrugged. "Dunno," he said bitterly, clenching his fists on the table. "You'll have to ask George."

Lupin didn't respond. Instead, he let his head drop into his hands, moaning. "How could we not notice? How could _I_ not notice?"

"Because he didn't want us to."

Everyone looked up at Ginny's softly spoken words, the first she had uttered in a long time.

"What do you mean, Ginny?" his mum asked, eyeing her daughter curiously.

"Is it that hard to understand?" she asked quietly. There was no temper in her words, just understanding and sad certainty. "He's Harry. When have you ever heard him complain about being hurt, or sick, or tired? I don't think he even realizes he's supposed to since he never had anyone who would listen anyway. And you know how he hates people fussing over him. I'm sure we never knew because he did everything he could to make sure of it."

No one responded, each lost in the unmistakable truth of her words. Ron knew Ginny was exactly right. He remembered last year and Harry's detentions with Umbridge. The woman tortured him for weeks and he didn't tell a soul. Hermione and he wouldn't even have known if they hadn't caught a glimpse of his hand. And that was just a sadistically cruel teacher; Ron knew Harry would have rather died than have everyone know what was going on at his own house.

_And from the sound of things, he'd almost received his wish_, Ron thought, anger returning.

After that, they all waited in silence for Healer Winkworth to emerge. George soon joined them, sitting at the table but never saying a word, his freckled face pale and wearing an expression of mixed rage and worry. Sometime later his mum muttered something about tea and biscuits and spent several minutes bustling about putting the pot on and finding cups and saucers. Bill and his dad came in just as it was ready. They nodded at Lupin, who nodded back, and then the waiting continued as everyone's untouched tea got cold. Ron found that not even his mother's wonderful biscuits sounded tempting at a time like this.

Gradually, Ginny's head sank into her arms on the table. George's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, as if willing himself to see through it to his twin above. Ron twirled a spoon in his tepid tea, watching the liquid swirl around and around, just like his thoughts. Bill and Lupin sat straight and silent, while his parents held hands, often exchanging meaningful glances.

"This can't be good," Ron's mum finally muttered, startling several of them. "It shouldn't be taking this long! I'm going to go up and see what's happening!" She started to rise but his dad gently pulled her back into the chair.

"Just wait, dear. Healer Winkworth will tell us everything, and if there were a real emergency, I'm sure we'd know."

She sighed and closed her eyes, putting a hand wearily to her face. Ron knew how she felt. It was taking every bit of restraint he had not to jump up from the table and rush the stairs to demand news.

Finally, after what seemed like years to Ron, the elderly wizard came down the stairs. As one, Lupin and all the Weasleys jumped to their feet.

"How are they?"

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Can we see them?"

With an experienced sigh the Healer raised a hand, asking for patience and effectively silencing the questions. He finished descending the stairs and set his bag on the table before sinking wearily into one of the empty chairs.

"Thank you, Molly," he said gratefully as he accepted the cup of tea Ron's mother placed before him. "I'm really getting too old to keep up with your brood, especially when you throw several flights of stairs into the mix."

"So, how are they?" pressed Ron, unconcerned with appearing rude for interrupting. He was tired of waiting and this was no time for small talk.

The Healer sighed again and set down his cup of tea on the table. "Before I go into any sort of detail, let me assure you that they are both going to be fine, physically at least."

The room breathed a collective sigh of relief at those words.

"And let me also thank Merlin that Weasleys have thick skulls."

"Fred?" gulped George, and Ron thought he looked ready to turn Healer Winkworth into something rather nasty if he didn't get on with it pronto. Secretly, Ron thought he just might help him.

"Is going to be fine," the old man answered quickly. "I won't lie – that was a nasty blow. Fractured the lad's skull and caused a serious concussion. If we were Muggles the boy would be on his way to a hospital, but thankfully, we're not. I mended the fracture and dealt with the concussion. I had to use some pretty powerful spells on that hard head of his, however, so I've simply bandaged the wound and given him a potion to speed up the healing. Sometimes, too much magic is dangerous when dealing with head injuries. As it is, you may notice some side affects for a few days."

"What sort of side affects?" Bill spoke up worriedly.

"Memory problems, both short and long term, strange mood swings, inability to control his emotions as well as usual."

Ron gaped at the Healer in horror at those words. An emotionally unstable Fred? They might as well move into a fireworks factory and invite a pyro over for dinner!

His expression must have been mirrored by the rest of his family because Healer Winkworth gave a little laugh. "Don't worry, it isn't permanent! The affects should wear off by the end of the week! Just make sure he keeps taking the potion I've left for him, Molly – two times a day, with food, until it's all gone."

Ron watched his mother nod that she understood then turned back to the Healer. He opened his mouth to demand more answers but someone beat him to it.

"What about Harry?" pushed George. Apparently, what he'd seen that night had greatly upset him, and now that he was assured of his twin's safety, he was as concerned as Ron about the younger boy.

The aged Healer's face fell at those words and his eyes lost some of their sparkle. "This has happened before you know," he said softly, a sad expression settling on his features. "He was rather cryptic with his answers but as I examined him I noticed some alarming patterns. I pressed him and he reluctantly admitted to a history of emotional and physical abuse at home. This is definitely the most severe incident, but it has certainly been going on for years."

Ron's anger flared again as he listened to the Healer talk about his best friend, and he wasn't entirely sure who he was angriest with: Harry's so-called family for doing this to him, or himself for never noticing. Despite Ginny's words, Ron felt he should have known! Harry was his best mate, closer to him than even most of his own brothers! Heck, they'd shared a dormitory for five years – he should have known, seen something, _done_ something!

"I'm a Healer," the old wizard continued unaware of Ron's tumultuous thoughts. "Very seldom do I wish harm on another living thing, but after seeing what those Muggles did to that child…" He trailed off, shaking his head. Ron agreed heartily, although he had no qualms about wishing harm on the Dursleys. After seeing Harry practically naked and in chains, and now waiting to hear his injuries catalogued like some morbid shopping list, Ron was making plans to tear them limb from limb the next opportunity he got. And he figured there were at least a few other people in the room who would willingly be recruited to help.

"What did they do?" Lupin growled when Healer Winkworth paused for too long, unintentionally projecting his inner wolf.

"Sorry," the old Healer said, sitting up and facing the waiting group again. "I'm not usually this distracted." He heaved a deep breath and Ron could tell he was preparing to tell them things that would only incense his listeners.

"He's been beaten repeatedly, not just in the last few days, but for the whole of the last three weeks. He's suffering from bruises, welts, and contusions in various stages of healing as a result. Some of the blows were strong enough to bruise three ribs and give him a fracture in one of them. I've healed the fracture and wrapped the others tightly, but healing that many bruises and cuts magically at once would be extremely painful for the lad. I've decided to simply speed up the natural process and have left a dose of the same potion for Harry as I did for Fred. Make sure he remembers to take it."

Several heads nodded their understanding but no on spoke. Ron thought George looked like a ticking bomb, ready to go off at any moment, his mum was making no attempt to hide the small tears rolling down her cheeks, and the rest of them sitting around the worn, wooden table – and Ron included himself in that number – were too angry to express themselves in words that were usable in Molly Weasley's presence.

"He's severely malnourished and dehydrated, but that's nothing a few weeks in your excellent care won't cure. Just make sure he eats and drinks something at every meal, Molly, even if he doesn't feel like it."

"What about his cough?" George suddenly spoke up, voicing a worry Ron hadn't even known about. "Is he sick?"

"Unfortunately, the answer to that question is yes. He has a rather severe case of what Muggles refer to as pneumonia. I imagine it started innocently enough, just a cold he came home from school with, but it was left untreated and then exacerbated by poor living conditions and neglect for three weeks."

"Pneumonia!" Ron's mum cried, shocked. "But that's a Muggle disease! Wizards don't get that!"

"No," corrected the Healer, "wizards who have a great deal of contact with the Muggle world sometimes still develop a case of it. You just don't hear about it because it's hardly ever allowed to progress to the point of true pneumonia before being caught, and even the it's easily cured with a simple potion if caught within a day or two."

"So, you cured Harry, right?" spoke up Ginny, her eyes blazing.

"Well, no," Healer Winkworth admitted reluctantly. "Young Mr. Potter is well past the window for the potion to have any affect. He's going to have to recover from this the Muggle way now."

"And what exactly does that mean, Woodrow? Is this disease serious?" Ron's father asked, speaking for the first time since the Healer had descended the stairs. Ron thought he sounded worried and tired, very tired.

"Any illness like this has the potential to be serious, but with lots of rest, a safe and comfortable place to be, and good, healthy food the lad should be fine. Unless something unexpected happens, I suspect he will be feeling much better by the end of the week, although the cough may persist for longer. I'll come by tomorrow with a Muggle drug – a potion in essence – that should help with that. Just see that he doesn't do anything to aggravate the coughing."

"So Fred's gonna be loopy and you want Harry to rest?" asked Ron incredulously. "Oh, this is gonna be a grand week."

Despite the grim situation, several of those sitting around the kitchen table chuckled and Healer Winkworth took that as his cue to stand up.

"They should both be sleeping now," he said, still smiling slightly from Ron's comment. "Fred from the spells I had to use and Harry from the light sleeping potion I slipped him. I don't expect either of them to wake before morning, but if you notice anything that concerns you, don't hesitate to Floo me. I'll be back tomorrow with the medicine for Mr. Potter."

The old man gathered his hat and cloak from the chair they had been draped over and turned toward the sitting room, but then stopped as if remembering something.

"Oh, Arthur, Molly, you'll want to get the boy to an optometrist as soon as he's healthy enough to leave the house. Muggle or magical, it doesn't really matter, but he's been too long without his vision corrected. I suspect it's already deteriorated beyond what it was before from the strain of trying to see clearly, not to mention it's giving him nasty headaches."

"We'll make an appointment in the village as soon as you say he's healthy enough," Ron's dad said quickly.

"Good," Healer Winkworth nodded. "Now, I really must be off. I'm far too old for these all-night calls, you know."

The adults in the room followed the Healer into the sitting room, speaking quietly, but Ron, Ginny and George remained sitting at the table, not really looking at each other. Ron was fighting to control a rage unlike any he'd ever experienced before and at the moment his thoughts were dark and ugly. He kept seeing Harry sitting there on George's bed as the ragged blanket fell away to reveal a starved and beaten body wearing nothing but his skivvies and a shocking set of chains.

"George," he growled suddenly, fixing his older brother with a burning look, "what exactly did they do to him?" He had heard the Healer's list of injuries, and he had that image he'd seen with his own eyes of Harry seared into his brain, but he needed to know what the twins had seen tonight, what exactly they'd walked into that could bring out this cold, furious anger in a brother who was normally so cheerful.

George eyed him and Ginny for a moment, his expression clouded and unreadable, before he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "Sorry," he said shaking his head firmly, "but no. You heard the Healer and you saw him yourself. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out." His voice was hard and angry. He looked at them for a moment more, then turned and walked up the stairs.

Ron thought about yelling at him, demanding that he come back, pressing his right to know as Harry's best mate, but he knew it was pointless. All it would do is start a magnificent row which would probably end with George and him pounding the crap out of each other. The idea was rather appealing, if only as a release for the rage that was filling him, but it wouldn't really help anything.

He shook his head, swearing under his breath, and stood up. "Going to my room," he muttered distractedly to Ginny and then took the stairs two at a time without even bothering to look at her. His fury fueled him up all five flights without a pause and he entered his attic bedroom still smoldering as he slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the entire house.

He spent a good twenty minutes tearing apart his room as he worked through his anger and his whole arsenal of swear words. He was pretty sure his shouts carried down to the rest of the house – he certainly made no efforts to contain them – but no one came to tell him to be quiet and he wouldn't have listened if they'd dared to try.

Finally, emotionally and physically drained, he sank onto his disheveled bed and let his head fall into his hands. He sat there lost in his thoughts for a long time as he listened to the house grow still and dark below him. Eventually, however, he stood and went to his dresser. Opening the top drawer, he rummaged around inside for a while, shoving aside junk, mateless socks, and the tattered wrappers from a sixteen-year hidden candy stash. Scattered haphazardly throughout the drawer, crumpled here and shoved into corners there, he found was he was looking for. He gathered the papers up and pulled them out, not bothering to shut the drawer as he walked back to his bed. With grim determination he spread them out on the coverlet and then hunched over, studying them fiercely.

*****

Silently, Ron pushed the door of the twins' room open and slipped into the dim space, closing it carefully behind him.

George looked up as he entered. Ron wasn't at all surprised to find his brother sitting there on a chair between the two beds. He'd heard the whispered voices floating up from the kitchen that told him his parents were still deep in conversation with Bill and Lupin. His mother must have gone back downstairs to join them after checking on her boys. Ron had no doubts at all what that conversation was about, and that alone assured him it would be a good while before his mum got around to coming back and inevitably shooing them out.

Wordlessly, George flicked his wand and a second chair appeared in the space between the beds. Ron sank into it without a sound. He glanced at Fred, lying pale and still in his bed, his flaming hair mostly hidden by the bandages wrapped around his head. He was far too gray and unmoving for Ron's comfort, but the Healer had said he'd be fine so Ron allowed himself to glance away and over to the other bed.

Harry was sleeping peacefully, his expression relaxed and a brightly colored quilt pulled up to his chin. If it weren't for the bruises that marred his face, Ron could almost pretend nothing was wrong. Or at least he could have, if he could somehow erase the image from earlier that was tattooed into his memory.

"What are those?"

George's whispered words drew Ron's gaze away from his best mate. He followed his brother's gesture to the papers he was clutching in his left hand.

"Harry's letters," he whispered, his voice full of self-loathing. George held out a hand and Ron handed them over without protest.

"He tried to tell me, y'know," Ron said with disgust as George thumbed through the letters, reading bits here and there. "_Having a great summer_…" Ron quoted. "_Been spending time with my family... Almost have my Charms essay done..."_ He gave a bitter laugh. "Since when has Harry ever had a great summer, or done his homework early, or spent time with those bloody gits? Never once did he mention Sirius, or ask for information about what was going on, or even jump down my throat for keeping him out of the loop. He was desperately giving me every clue he could with that monster standing over his shoulder that something was wrong, practically begging me to notice, but I was too stupid to even see it."

"You weren't the only one he wrote letters to, Ron," George finally said quietly, handing back the stack of rumpled, smudged papers. "None of us noticed either, so if you're gonna lay on the guilt, make sure to share it around."

Ron turned from his brother to stare at his best mate again, not bothering to hide the fury burning in his eyes, before breaking the silence once more. "George," he whispered, not taking his eyes off Harry as he spoke, "what did they do to him? Tell me." Even in a whisper, his voice was cold and hard.

George was silent for quite a while, leaving Ron to wonder if he'd have to beg or threaten the answers out of him, but finally the twin spoke. "They took away his shoes and his clothes and his glasses; they chained him to his bed and left him locked in his room for three weeks, Ron." His words were clipped and blunt, completely to the point. "They beat him and starved him and left him abandoned and locked up for days. The better question is what _didn't_ they do to him. Now, is there anything else you'd like to know?" spat George, rage still strong in his whispered words.

"Yeah," answered Ron firmly. "I wanna know when we're leaving for Privet Drive and how we're gonna avoid Azkaban when we're done with whatever it is you're already planning."


End file.
